


DONE III - Interlude: Between the years

by Nika_Bo



Series: DONE [3]
Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 07:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nika_Bo/pseuds/Nika_Bo
Summary: Continuation from the previous work(s)!Los Angeles December 3rd 2015, The Late Late Show“You saved me. I owe you.”“You owe me nothing, Horan.”“You just bled for me, Styles. Literally. I OWE YOU!”“Fine, if you insist. You owe me.”“Come and claim. Whenever. Whatever.”It's Xmas 2015, Niall is at home, contemplating the past year, the hiatus and the future.





	DONE III - Interlude: Between the years

 

 

Notes:

Sorry this took me a while to post. My muse lost some momentum after HS1 ended.

(In true childhood fashion of "saving the best for last" I have managed two weeks without watching the final LA show on YT.

Something that keeps me going! Not sure for how much longer, TEMPTATION!!!!!)

Also the constant heatwave threw me in full procastiation mode: had to lie in the inflateable pool, sip lemon ice-teas and get tanned af!!!

But here it is, hope you enjoy! I am working on the final part - as I post this - which will be long and epic and contain quite a lot of NARRY SMUT.

 

Warning to shippers: there are ZARRY and LARRY implications in here, even a little LIRRY - not all positive!!!

 

Constructive/positive feedback is always appreciated!

Be kind, you're wonderful!!!

 

 

 

 

***

_Los Angeles December 3rd 2015, The Late Late Show_

 

_“You saved me. I owe you.”_

_“You owe me nothing, Horan.”_

_“You just bled for me, Styles. Literally. I OWE YOU!”_

_“Fine, if you insist. You owe me.”_

_“Come and claim. Whenever. Whatever.”_

***

Niall spends Christmas with his family. In between celebrating, visiting relatives and stuffing himself with the best homemade delicacies and the inevitable food comas he falls in afterwards he remembers the last month; the last of the year, the last of 1D, the last of him and the others, of him and Harry together as bandmates.

He still cannot believe that from January onwards he’s supposed to do… what exactly? Rest, relax, go on holiday. That’s what they refer to whenever they’re being asked during interviews: that they need time to unwind and recuperate after 5 years of constant touring, promoting and recording songs.

Niall has a feeling that he will be bored with relaxation before the 12 days of Christmas have passed.

***

After returning from the US the boys had met up on the 10th in London for the BBC Awards. Another last performance after the two Jingle Balls and the Late Late Show in LA.

While they had been backstage getting ready Niall had instinctively gazed at Harry’s left arm. The tiny writing just above the crook of his elbow, probably barely visible between the larger tattoos, had been covered by the long sleeve of the black silk shirt Harry had been wearing and yet it was there, a constant reminder of what Styles had done for Horan a week before.

Niall still remembers the panic surging through his body while they had all stood there, lined up in Corden’s studio, one by one revealing the content of their box. He imagines real Russian Roulette would come pretty close to the level of adrenaline rushing through one’s veins.

He had been positively terrified of the prospect of getting inked and Corden’s own relief when he himself had been the third in line to be spared had left Damocles’ sword hanging nice and sharp above Harry or him. Niall still thinks James would have deserved to get the tattoo for coming up with the stupid game idea in the first place. And for having the nerve to jump around in relief, boasting about how alive he’d felt when the lid of his box had said SAFE.

By then Niall had tried real hard to not vomit onto the studio floor with nerves. Harry had turned to him and pulled him into a hug, assuring him that it would be fine. And Lady Luck had obviously listened and attributed the role of heroic saviour to the long-haired man.

The audience had probably thought that it’d all been rigged and decided from the beginning that Harry would get the ink – Harry, the wild one – but Niall knows that nothing had been arranged and it had been down to sheer luck. _The wild one!_  Horan remembers watching Harry as he got inked and noticing surprised how a strange kind of calm and almost serenity had come over Harry. A calm that hadn’t been present in his friend for the longest time.

Recalling the OTRA tour Niall has to admit that all the antics Harry had thrown on stage may have seemed like exuberance to fans and strangers but deep down he knows that Styles had been slowly losing his shit.

Losing it for all to see who truly cared and dared to look deep enough. Losing it little by little every day since Jakarta, since it had been clear that Zayn would not return to them. Not now, not ever. That he had left them all for good.

Had left Harry.

And Harry had fallen apart. Unravelled. Spiralled down. Strangely detached from the others he had thrown himself into each of the performances, giving himself more than ever to the audience. Almost as if he wanted to disappear into them. He had pushed himself to the limit, exhausted himself, deplenished of everything by the end of each concert.

Energy, voice, strength.

It had been scary and yet Niall thinks that Harry had never seemed more beautiful or fierce or radiant, tumbling chaotically across the stage. Dangerous. On the edge. About to expire, to burn out like a comet, a shooting star.

Niall had been hurt when it had been announced that Harry was pushing for a break. And for real this time. Hurt and shocked but not really surprised. He knew that without Zayn the whole thing was pretty much done for Harry, that a pause was the only thing keeping Styles from collapsing. A light to sustain him until he reached the end of that long, dark tour tunnel of pain and grief and frustration. Hidden away because Harry was super-professional yet festering.

He knew that Harry was ready to give it all up to get back what he needed, what he wanted, what he loved. It was there in black and white on a sheet of paper, in the cadence of his sad raspy baritone when he first sang the song he submitted to their new and, for now, last album.

Horan can’t forget that day when the info about Zayn permanently quitting reached them, still sees Harry in his memory, besides himself with helpless anger, tormented, crying. Harry, who had been one step away from refusing to go on stage that night and had thrown his very first and biggest tantrum ever, demolished his dressing room and – in a final act of desperate defiance – rejected to sing even a single line of Zayn’s song parts as he had done before.

Harry hadn’t been himself for the rest of the tour. One minute behaving aggressive and erratic, the next completely numb and detached, then again hyper and silly. Liam and Louis had been clueless how to react to that, annoyed by their bandmate and Niall had been astounded at their lack of sensitivity. Him and Harry had gravitated towards each other and Niall hoped that Styles had found at least a little solace in his company. Perhaps he had always been the second favourite after Zayn; him and Harry having bonded early on over their shared taste in music and their innate positivity and happy disposition.

Well, not so much for Harry anymore. He had often been brooding and dismissive, only relaxing a little the day it had finally been agreed upon to go on hiatus from January 2016.

That had been the first time Niall had seen that strange kind of serenity settle within Harry. Similar to the calm he had exuded while sitting in that chair getting the tattoo. Niall wondered if the adrenaline and the pain rush had caused it. Harry’s irises had been diluted, black as night and there had been a glow about him, an exultation almost tangible.

"Pain", Niall had thought, "Pain to cover another pain!"

He had been so grateful to Harry for having been spared the tattoo. Perhaps that had played a part in why he had said what he had said to his colleague after the show taping was finished. And maybe also because he had been panicking about the looming hiatus, yet another public appearance done. Only a couple more to go before separating from Harry. Harry, who had looked so breathtakingly beautiful in his pale blue GUCCI shirt, eyes wide and jade-green, alight with adrenaline, a smile to light up the universe playing on his lips.

So he had burst out with a thank you and the insistence that a debt was owed on his behalf, that he wanted to return the favour, which had then morphed into the explicit invitation to incur whatever Harry deemed appropriate.

Because despite his own desires Niall still had to leave the first step to Harry, wanted him to set the pace and rules because he was insecure about how to approach this whole thing between them, unsure whether he’d read the signs right, whether Styles was thinking along the same lines as he was when clearly Zayn’s departure had left Harry bereft and possibly rejecting any kind of involvement with another bandmate, ever again.

He had been restless following the days after the Corden show, searching, waiting for a sign from Harry, who had to take the next step. One day dreading his decision and the next feeling impatient and confused because Harry kept quiet.

Sure, there had been a new level of fondness on Harry’s behalf throughout the OTRA tour, little signs and gestures of affection towards Niall, while he had more or less ignored Liam and Louis who had been busy doing their thing together on stage, water fights and all, and Harry’s relationship with Louis never the best anyway, ever since 2012.

Niall gets all warm and fuzzy inside remembering the recording of that short spot they did for the London Sessions where Harry had been the only one not fronting the camera but standing sideways next to Niall and suddenly bending down to place a kiss on his colleague’s shoulder. There had been lots of small moments between them and Harry always close to him on stage with Niall like a human barrier between Liam and Louis, especially Louis!

Niall had never learned what exactly had happened between the two in 2012. What had caused Harry to move out of their shared flat and avoid Louis, if it had been because of Louis pushing Harry into something he didn’t want or simply the fact that Harry had fallen head over heels and gotten involved with Zayn.

And it had been clear that Harry was in over his head. Niall had been surprised how few had actually picked up on it, press and fans alike zoning in on the whole silly LARRY conspiracy instead. And meanwhile Harry lighting up the stage or conference rooms, studios and press offices with his lovey-dovey smile, unable to keep his hands off Zayn, to not cuddle into him, look and sing to him, change lyrics and making not so subtle suggestive moves and behaving increasingly sexual on stage.

Niall hadn’t know the depth of Zayn and Harry’s relationship, how intimate they had been. Not until he’d witnessed Harry’s meltdown during their OTRA tour after Zayn’s departure and he’d realised that Harry’s heart was broken, shattered, because he had been in love.

There are moments, wandering around the Irish fields, when he wonders whether it is such a good idea wanting to get involved with Styles. What if he falls, like Harry has fallen, making himself become vulnerable and potentially allowing Harry to hurt or disappoint him?

In his insecure moments he reasons that it is best to stay away, that it is good that Harry hasn’t reacted to his hint or better plain suggestion to initiate. But the more time passes without a response from Harry the more Niall gets restless and frustrated and the longing becomes almost unbearable.

***

The 13th of December had rolled around too quickly and with it their truly last _last 1D performance_ on the X-Factor Final at Wembley stadium. Things had come full circle and it had been infinitely more emotionally charged than their final performance in the US for Corden’s show in LA ten days earlier.

The air had seemed to be filled with unresolved issues between all of them, things unspoken, tense, sad and nostalgic. There had been a hint of worry on more than one face, doubt if they would manage on their own, having spent their formative years together, secure in the knowledge that there were 3 or 4 others picking up when oneself had screwed up. That safety net would now be gone, each one shouldering the responsibility of their decisions and future performances by themselves.

Niall knew that Harry had the least insecurities regarding his future. He had always been the one with the greatest _I don’t give a fuck about the opinion of others_ attitude. He’d also always been the one with the greatest talent!

That, together with the unquantifiable something which had set him apart from the early days at X-Factor, had made him the secret frontman of their group and would surely catapult him into superstardom as a single artist!

Niall looks across the fields in Mullingar, grey and dreary in the snow slush and wrapping tighter into his duffle coat against the crisp air recalls the final embrace with Harry on the X-Factor Final.

After having dinner at a swanky restaurant with Simon Cowell after the show, the four of them had ended up in a private club in Mayfair for drinks and farewells.

Niall remembers him and Liam sitting on the plush velvet banquette in the VIP area, reminiscing over G&Ts while Louis had been talking to a premier league footballer from Chelsea and Harry letting rip in the middle of the dancefloor.

“It looks like some kind of exorcism," Liam had said, holding his glass halfway up to his lips while watching his colleague in yet another iconic floral GUCCI suit going completely wild and eclipsing every other person in the room simply by being his exuberant self.

“Who knows what kind of demons he’s harbouring?” Niall had replied.

“I’m gonna miss him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna miss all of you. But Harry…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. It feels a little bit as if we’ve already lost him quite a while ago though.”

“Roughly around the 25th of March,” Liam conceded.

“Yeah,” Niall had sighed. “What do you think will happen now?”

“To Harry? Or to all of us?”

“Either. Both.”

Liam had taken a deep swig from his G&T. “He’s gonna go stratospheric. And we will all strive to follow in his Chelsea-booted footprints of success.”

“You don’t sound bitter anymore. In the past it had sometimes sounded as if you… I don’t know…”

“Were green with envy and jealous of our long-haired curlyhead who had somehow turned into this glittering golden rockstar?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, I guess at some point in the past few months I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never be what Harry is, always has been. I’ll never have his amount of potential and ease nor the swagger or star quality. And somehow I’m okay with it now. I’ll go out and do my thing, do it as best I can and be content and happy with it and leave it to Styles to become this generation’s next rock god in the Hall of Fame.”

“So you’re done competing?”

“Oh yes. There is no use. He is HARRY STYLES. The world has no idea what’s coming for it. I can’t wait to see what he’ll do.”

“You sound like a fan.”

“I am. Always have, always will be.”

“I’m glad there are no hard feelings between you and him. I thought there might be with you and Louis always hanging out together during the tour.”

“Well, you and H have grown quite close since Zayn has left and someone had to keep Louis company and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be Hazza.”

“True, fair enough.”

“What’s going on with you and Harry? He seems quite fond of you these days… And you of him.”

“Mmmmhh?” Niall had only heard half of Liam’s question, absorbed in watching Harry groove in a particular seductive way a few meters away.

“Oh dear!” Liam had laughed.

“What?”

“It’s happened. Finally!”

Niall had looked perplexed. “What has finally happened?”

“Another one has fallen under the spell of Mr Harold Styles. First Louis, then Zayn and now you. I knew this was gonna happen Sooner or later he gets under everyone’s skin. Or rather into their hearts.”

Niall, found out, had blushed. Hard. “What about you? Have you ever…?”

“Hooked up with our cheeky chappy?” Liam had smiled, a secret little curl of his lip, halfway between amusement and nostalgia. “Once. In the early days. We spent an entire night in Simon’s pool in Marbella.”

“So you two had…?”

“No. But there was a hell of a lot of kissing and… touching.”

“Wow, I had no idea.”

“Yeah.”

“So, basically I am the only one left who hasn’t…”

“Oh, so you haven’t yet?”

“No… I am… thinking about it.”

“Just be careful!” Niall had looked at Payne questioningly. “Harry is not a bad guy, far from it. He doesn’t exploit one’s feelings but I think he may not know how deeply he actually affects others. Especially the four of us. We were so close anyway for the past five years.”

“But you seem fine!”

“I am but it was never that serious for me. Not like it was for Louis or Zayn.”

“What happened between Louis and Harry? They were so close when we first all got together and then…”

“I’m not sure but I think Louis made a mistake. He pushed too hard, was too demanding, wanting control. You know best that Harry can’t be controlled. And then there was Zayn of course. And at first it was just fooling around but at some point it got serious. And Harry fell in love with Zayn. And Zayn fell in love with Harry.”

“And yet he left him, left all of us!”

“He did. And look what it has done to Harry.” They both looked at the man in the suit, a singular force in red of flailing limbs and thrown-back head. Pure abandonment.

“He is still hurting like hell. He’s vulnerable, unpredictable, and you’re making starry eyes at him, Nialler. Just be careful. I‘d hate for you to get hurt too! We’ve all come too close to his flame and we’ve all walked away from it burned!”

Niall had sighed, still observing Harry on the dance floor. A circle had formed around him, people giving him space to dance and better be able to watch him. “I have thought about the very same thing. Trust me, Liam, I know that it is a foolish idea. But what did Gomez sing? The heart wants what it wants. And I want this. Him, us. Even if it’s just for one night.”

“Then go for it.”

Niall nodded, while Payne got up to visit the loo. “Payno?”

“Yeah?”

“What was it like? Being with him?”

“What do you think? It was bloody fucking fantastic!”

***

When they had all finally parted ways around 3.30am, said goodbye and hugged once more in the street it had become clear that Harry and Niall were headed in the same direction with Horan’s hotel in Shoreditch and Styles staying at his flat in the East End.

They had shared a cab and sitting in the dark car, cruising through the night, Niall had felt like the inept hero in a bad rom-com, trying to find a reason to convince his object of affection to come inside for a night cup.

Niall had looked at Harry, his profile illuminated by the street lights while he was gazing out of the window, his left hand propped up by his chin, the right resting casually on his GUCCI-clad thigh _So muscular!_ on top of these vaguely erotic large blossoms.

Niall can still remember the queasiness in his stomach, nervous tension and desire coiling tight, while he’d been contemplating picking up that slender-fingered hand and placing a kiss to its palm.

The stop for his hotel had come way too soon.

“Could you wait for a moment, please?” Harry had asked the driver politely before getting out and waiting for Niall to follow.

“So, I guess this is it?” Harry had stood there on the sidewalk across the street from the hotel, hands folded behind his back: the epitome of sexy-awkward.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Niall hadn’t known what to say either. The urge to just snuggle up into Harry’s cozy corner, face pressed into his neck like he’d done countless times on the tour bus had suddenly been overwhelming. Just when he’d thought the silence between them couldn’t get any louder Harry had spread his arms wide, inviting Niall into his embrace.

Horan remembers everything in painful and technicoloured detail: the feeling of Harry’s arms around his body, the warmth seeping into him, the smooth texture of the suit beneath his cheek, that unique smell of Harry: skin, soap and his favourite perfume, a silky strand of soft hair falling across Niall’s face when he pressed even closer, wanting to crawl into his friend, to hold on and not let go.

Ever.

And Harry just holding him, would have probably held him for an infinity if it were what Niall had needed. Because that was Harry Styles: always giving.

So they had stood there, the minutes ticking by, prolonging the inevitable: their goodbye. For a second Niall had thought that a paparazzo would probably strike gold with a pic of them right now but not really caring, one way or the other. And neither it had seemed did Harry.

They had stood like that, held each other until their hearts and their breathing had synched up, until Niall felt the turmoil in his heart had calmed and he’d felt strong enough to control his voice without choking on tears because he was going to miss this guy so fucking much, and say what he needed to say. “I can’t even imagine not seeing you every day and talk to you, be on tour, making music with you.”

“I am only a phone call away.”

“That’s not the same though.”

“Nialler, nothing’s going to change between us. We’re still Horan and Hazza. It’s all good.”

“THE FUCK IT IS!!!” Niall had pressed his face almost aggressively into Harry’s neck. “Don’t become a stranger!”, he had whispered, at first not sure if Harry had heard but then Styles had hugged him tighter.

“I won’t.”

“And remember the debt.”

“I will.”

Niall had straightened up in Harry’s embrace and looked up at him, blinking rapidly because his eyes had become deceptively moist. “And don’t make me wait too long.”

“I promise.” Harry had looked down at him then, searching for something in Niall’s eyes before he had leaned in and whispered: “Consider this your down payment!”

And with that he had cupped one hand around Niall’s cheek and brushed his lush mouth against Niall’s lips in the softest and sweetest kiss.

Horan’s stomach still drops out through his feet recalling that moment.

Harry hadn’t made any attempt to deepen the kiss and Niall had been too overwhelmed to do anything either. When Harry had finally ended the kiss he’d pressed his forehead against Niall’s. “I’m going to miss you every single day.”

He’d placed another kiss to the spot right between Niall’s eyebrows. “Now go. I promise I’ll call on Christmas. Give my love to Maura and the rest and I’ll see you in the new year.”

“Promise?”

“I promise!”

So Niall had turned around and walked over to his hotel, his lips still tingling from Harry’s touch, his brain fuzzy with thoughts and alcohol and his heart heavy with sadness. When he had turned around one last time Harry had still been standing there on the sidewalk and given Niall his trademark dimpled smile and a final wave.

***

Harry had called on Christmas Day, as promised, wishing everyone in the Horan clan a merry time and all the best for 2016. Niall had talked to him for several minutes but only about irrelevant stuff. Family, presents, food comas… And all the time Niall had wanted to shout at Harry: “Talk to me! What’s going to happen with us? Why are you taking so long? What does it mean? I am losing my cool here!”

But he hadn’t. He’d stayed silent, hoping that Harry had his reasons and needing his time to come to terms with whatever.

***

Christmas has passed. So has the old year. It’s January 2016 and Niall has taken his brother on a holiday, desperate to get away, be distracted. He’s swapped Ireland’s dirty snow slush for a week of pristine powdery white in the Swiss Alps.

By the time he gets back a parcel posted in Los Angeles is waiting for him. When he opens it his heart skips a few beats. It’s a small picture frame with an old piece of parchment in it: a claim for a lot of land in the Beverly Hills, dated from 1894. There is a small envelope attached to the back of the frame. Only three sentences have been hand-written on the little note inside:

_Niall,_

_please come to LA and spend some time with me._

_We will do whatever we want. Whatever YOU want._

_– H._

***


End file.
